If winter should forget to send you flowers
and the sidewalk trips your eager stride,
if time is slicing you in minutes, not in hours
and the wind’s blown all your wishes wide,
if the stairwell of your searching spirals dizzy in your wake
and the moon winks out before you dream,
if the boat is swooning dangerously mid-sail upon your lake,
or a cry begins to play your throat into a scream:
You need the smallest hand to shield your gaze from that dark glare.
One bite will yield the sugar from the thinnest slice of pear.